


I Don't Forgive You But Please Don't Hold Me To It

by Natt_theghost (justasign)



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Thomas Barrow is too caught up in his own head
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasign/pseuds/Natt_theghost
Summary: Thomas gets a letter from his father after being thrown out 16 years ago. He debates if it's even worth reading.
Kudos: 34





	I Don't Forgive You But Please Don't Hold Me To It

**Author's Note:**

> I should be working on school work but I was listening to Phoebe Bridgers and this happened. I literally wrote this in about 2 hours so it's probably trash but I needed to get it out so here. This is probably going to chapter 1 of a 2 chapter story but who knows? Chapter 2 will have more warnings, things are super vague in this chapter so it shouldn't be too rough but I rated it as Teen for future content  
> I've placed this story as taking place sometime during season 4, so he would have gotten the letter sometime around episode 2
> 
> The title is from "Kyoto" by Phoebe Bridgers

It had seemed so innocuous, almost disappointing in its mundanity. Carson walked around the table, handing out mail like normal. Thomas had a letter, not a daily occurrence but nothing to draw any attention from himself or others. But the name. The address. He froze, face blank as he read it once, twice, five times over. Mrs. Hughes was sat to his left and noticed he had been holding his mail far longer than was reasonable for an ordinary letter.

“Is everything alright Mr. Barrow? It’s not bad news I hope?”

Her eyes tried to catch his but his gaze was fixed on the letter. Her voice broke the spell he had fallen under abruptly and he quickly slipped the letter into his jacket pocket.

“Not bad news, no. Everything’s fine,” he answered as he rose from the table, a touch more brusque than was typical but no one expected much from him in regards to civility so no one batted an eye. “I have some work I need to get a start on, if you’ll excuse me.”

The boot room was empty this morning and would most likely stay that way long enough to give Thomas a moment of quiet to think. With a hand that was shaking slightly, he reached back into his pocket and pulled out the letter, staring at the return name and address as though it might have changed in the less than ten minutes it took for him to duck out of the way of prying eyes. The name was still the same: Nathaniel Barrow. The address was the same as it was sixteen years ago, when he had left. Well, “left” isn’t the right word. “Left” implies that he had made a decision one day that actually he didn’t want to inherit his father’s shop and instead sought to bow and scrape and serve for the rest of his life. No, it was the same as it was when he was thrown out on his ear and forced to fend for himself.

He flipped the letter over and saw the message written there: “You don’t have to read this if you don’t want to.” Good. He didn’t. He held the letter in hands poised for ripping but as the paper began to twist and tear he felt his stomach drop. Christ, what was wrong with him? He didn’t want to read the letter. He didn’t want to read whatever this man who had made his childhood and adolescence absolute hell had to say to him almost two decades on. Footsteps in the hallway made him jump and quickly tuck the letter back in his jacket. He was at work, he didn’t have time for this. He would...well, he would think of _something_ to do later he supposed. Taking a deep breath, he fixed his mask of impassivity back into place and made his way out of his hiding spot. He was under-butler of Downton Abbey, he surely had things that required his attention more than a letter from a man who hated him.

_____________________________________

The day continued on painfully quick and slow. Despite resolving to think on anything else, his thoughts were singular in their focus and yet he still had not made a decision on what he wanted to do. After lunch, he stepped outside with Jimmy to smoke. It wasn’t especially necessary, no one would have batted an eye at two male members of staff smoking in the servant’s hall but he had grown accustomed to it after so many years with O’Brien that it was more a force of habit than anything else.

They stood side by side but not too close, Thomas was very careful about that. They talked absently about whatever Jimmy wanted to talk about. Today, it was something about Alfred looking foolish, as was his wont, and Ivy being silly, which was hers. The thought of bringing up the letter crossed his mind for a fleeting moment but was quickly squashed. The foundation upon which their friendship was built necessitated that Thomas give whatever Jimmy needed, usually a listening ear and maybe a sharp comment about whoever he was whinging about that day, and not ask for anything in return. If he asked for anything then he betrayed that he was a person with wants and if they thought too hard about what Thomas wanted, what they had would dissolve and that isolation was more distasteful than repression. It’s not like he wasn’t used to it. He was certain Jimmy didn’t want to hear about his father either. It was all too mixed up in Thomas’s...everything else. If he brought it up, he would have to say he was kicked out. If he said he was kicked out, he would have to explain why, and if he explained why then Jimmy wouldn’t be able to pretend that Thomas was normal. No, he couldn’t bring it up. Instead, he just nodded and scoffed at whatever Jimmy was currently saying, what _was_ he saying? It didn’t really matter. He wouldn’t notice that Thomas wasn’t listening.

“You alright, Mr. Barrow? You seem, I don’t know, distracted.”

Or so he had thought.

“I’m fine, just been a long day.”

“It’s barely half way done.”

 _Christ, don’t remind me_ , he thought to himself, grimacing involuntarily. Jimmy noticed and furrowed his brow.  
“Is something the matter?” Silence. “Does it have to do with that letter you got this morning?”

Fuck. Maybe Jimmy _did_ pay attention.

“It’s nothing. Just someone I wasn’t expecting is all. Don’t worry about me.” He managed a quick tight lipped smile.

Jimmy’s eyes hadn’t moved from his face. He seemed to be mulling something over and Thomas silently pleaded for him to just _stop_. For once, providence was on his side when Alfred poked his head out into the courtyard informing Jimmy that Carson was looking for him. After some brief half-hearted bickering, he threw one last curious look Thomas’s way and headed inside.

The silence was a reprieve and a curse. He checked his pocket watch. He wouldn’t be needed for another quarter hour at least. He should just throw out the letter. No good would come from it. He should just rip it up and let whatever drivel his father had written be left in obscurity. He said himself, he didn’t have to read it. Not that he needed his father’s permission to not read a letter, he could decide that for himself thank you very much. There was nothing he could say that could possibly make up for any of it and if he thought he could, then he hadn’t changed at all and Thomas didn’t want any part of that.

 _But what if it’s important?_ That was stupid. If it was important, he could have gotten Maggie to write something. Not that he was talking to Maggie but Baxter was here and she would have sent the message along if she needed to. _No, it’s not important. It can’t be._

 _But then why would he send it?_ Was this just another way to torture his son sixteen years after he had cut him out? Not a letter, not a telegram, not anything for over a decade and now he writes. It has to be some new way to fuck with his greatest disappointment. That’s what he had called him. It wasn’t the last thing his father had ever said to him but it was pretty fucking close.

“Fuck me,” he whispered to the empty air. He dropped the end of his cigarette, crushed it under his heel, and headed back inside.

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon Thomas as being born 1890 so he would be 32 during this story (1922) and would have been thrown out at 16 (1906). In this universe, he quickly went into service as a means of having work and a roof over his head and just never left due to convenience. I borrowed his father's name from a fic by Dementian and like everyone else, I have adopted Thomas's sister's name being Margaret (he calls her by her childhood nickname here)  
> Also, this story isn't me trying to redeem an abusive father. I don't think it's possible for Thomas to forgive his father. I think he might want to want to forgive his father by the end but that's not what this story is about
> 
> check me out on tumblr if you want where I will not acknowledge that I've written this fic at all out of embarrassment. My username is natt-theghost


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